Jar of Hearts
by ohgleegasms
Summary: For all you Brittana shippers - Brittany tries coming to terms with her torn feelings for Artie & Santana.  Santana, meanwhile, tries to get over Brittany but cannot seem to let go.
1. Intro

I am unhealthily obsessed with Brittany and Santana's relationship.

Un. Healthily.

So for all you Brittana shippers, this one's for us. I'm still trying to shake off my rustiness, but between this FF and my Finchel, I'm hoping to revive my writing abilities soon.

As always, constructive criticism is welcomed with open arms! xo I do hope you enjoy!


	2. Chapter 1

"and it took so long just to feel alright  
>remember how to put back the light in my eyes<br>I wish I had missed the first time that we kissed  
>cuz you broke all your promises.<br>and now you're back, you're don't get to get me back.

and who do you think you are?  
>running 'round leaving scars,<br>collecting your jar of hearts,  
>and tearing love apart.<br>you're gonna catch a cold  
>from the ice inside your soul<br>so don't come back for me,  
>don't come back at all."<p>

_Having a father who is a doctor has its advantages. It is ten at night, yet nobody can tell me I'm singing too loudly, that I'll wake the neighborhood. In fact, even if they were here to tell me that, I wouldn't stop singing anyway. Who flippin' cares if I wake up the neighborhood? I surely don't give a rat's ass about anyone in this stupid town. Hell, I don't give a rat's ass about anyone in this stupid state. I thought I did, but now… I know better._

Fuck everyone.

As Christina Perri's hit single blasts on full volume from her CD player, Santana Lopez sits cross-legged on her bed, her scrawling half-cursive handwriting flowing freely into a small journal that she's been keeping since high school's beginning. Angst, anger, sadness – twisted emotions pour themselves outward onto the once-blank pages, exploiting every hope and fear that has ever fallen into her hands.

On nearly every page, somewhere, is the name _Brittany_.

One page, closer to the beginning, sketches of, _Brittany Lopez, Santana Pierce_ can be found, if one looks carefully. Yet further into the book, one might stumble upon, _fuck Brittany and her cripple boytoy_, or something similar. Hate to love, love to hate… a vicious cycle.

The pen only ceases its movements when Santana's cell phone buzzes, indicating that she's received a text message. She a moment she is frozen, pondering whether or not she should bother checking her phone. She does not feel up to facing Sam right now – as pleasurable as he is, she's not feeling into _that_tonight. And nobody else matters… right? Cursing aloud, she writes another sentence before sighing heavily, deliberately making a melodramatic scene of reaching for her phone and unlocking it – though it is curiosity, rather than the force of any other presence, that brings her to check the message. After all, Sam knew she was buying her prom dress this afternoon – he probably just wants to know what color she has chosen.

A scowl becomes evident as "Brit" flashes across the screen. "What do _you_want?" Santana hisses cooly to no one in particular, opening the text message despite her obvious annoyance.

_I need 2 c u. Please?_

For a moment, her guard is dropped as Santana's gaze softens and the slightest hint of a smile finds its way across her features. The moment is fleeting, however, as remembrance draws nigh and she curses again. _Who does she think she fuckin' is? It's a Friday night, she's gotta be with Aaaaartie._

_Y? It's Friday nite, I'm kinda busy_.

The lie comes smoothly, as so many have lately. Yet inside her chest, her heart pounds like a caged bird's wings, beating for their freedom of flight. Barely a moment passes before a response flitters its way across the screen.

_Pls? I'm outside ur house rite now, I see ur lite on._

Santana's expressive eyes roll upward, the mocha irises seemingly darkening to ebony as anger surges through her body. Who the hell does Brittany think she is, lurking outside _her_ window at night, asking to talk? She made her decision, and she had made it _crystal clear_. She wanted Artie.

Jar of Hearts returns to memory and Santana grimaces.

_Fine. _She types feverishly, emotions tearing her apart as she does. _U have 5 min to say whatever u need 2 say, I got shit 2 do 2nite._

Brittany has a key to the Lopez house – _note to self, get that from her before she leaves tonight_ – so Santana remains in her bedroom as she hears the front door unlocking. Suddenly feeling slightly vulnerable in her black silk nightie, Santana springs from her bed and snatches the matching silk robe, sliding it over her flawlessly tanned skin. She hasn't made much progress in covering her body, but she does not mind. _Make her remember what she's rejected_, she thinks as she smiles cruelly at the thought.

Yet the pang in her heart continues.

Returning to her bed, she tucks her journal beneath her mattress before lying forward onto her stomach, eyes lifting to the door as Brittany enters. Her heart slams to a stop at the sight of her (former?) best friend – hair in a messy ponytail, leggings slouching slightly, oversize sweatshirt wrinkled and disheveled. It's obvious what activities she had been partaking in earlier this evening.

"God Brittany, you reek of cripple sex. Look at you, you're a mess. What the hell do you want?" Scowling, Santana hates the crushing feeling of her heart sinking lower as she glowers in the direction of the tall blonde, regretting having permitted her to enter the house.


	3. Chapter 2

Brittany's hand flies upward to her blonde, tousled hair, embarrassment flustering her features. "Oh no, really? I asked Artie the last time you said that and he promised that all sex smells the same."

Santana's eyes narrow to slits, in an attempt to hide her inner amusement. Sometimes Brittany's naivety was too endearing for her own good. "What do you want?" she demands again, exploding with impatience while ignoring her innate desire to invite Brittany to join her on the bed.

Without need for invitation, however, the leggy blonde flops onto Santana's bed and the dark-haired girl inches away slightly – plugging her nose as she feigns disgust, meanwhile her skin burns with desire. "Okay so like, we were, you know, doing it. And suddenly like, ten minutes in, I feel something, overwhelming like. It was…"

"An orgasm," interrupts Santana. "Don't you remember what that feels like, or has it been that long since you've had one since you're relying on a man to please you now?" Her facial features are difficult to interpret, but it would appear she's fighting jealousy.

Brittany shakes her head, though, suddenly on the brink of tears. "No, I remember those. It wasn't that. It was… not right." Santana tries not to look interested, but she is; though she says nothing. Brittany continues slowly. "I just, I don't know. He's…"

"Impotent?" Santana offers another suggestion, but Brittany just gives her a blank stare of confusion. "Forget it, Brit. What's going on?" Santana regrets asking this, but now she needs to know.

Tears begin to fall and Santana feels her stomach churning as she watches Brittany cry. Tears she cannot handle, especially since the blonde isn't responding. "Jesus Brit, it's a Friday night and you expect me to watch the waterworks? Why the hell are you here?"

"Nobody else loves me enough to listen!" sobs Brittany, falling onto Santana's chest while wrapping her arms around the slender girl's waist. "I don't love him, Santana, not anymore. I don't wanna do it anymore."

Santana's eyes widen as she reels away from Brittany's touch – inwardly flattered and angrily pleased, yet refusing to drop her guard. _Jar of Hearts, remember? _"Oh so you come here hoping to win me over after shattering my heart? And what about Artie? Does he know you are here?" Brittanny's ponytail shakes from side to side. "Yeah, I thought so. You probably just weren't horny tonight. Go home, sleep and tomorrow you'll want to ride him on that wheelchair all over town." She hates the words, hates how easily they flow off her tongue, yet she really just… cannot… face these emotions tonight.

Brittany looks at Santana with sadness in her eyes. "I – love you," she whispers softly, pleadingly, giving Santana a pleading stare. "Please don't make me go home tonight. Nobody is home, and I'm afraid…"

Exasperated, Santana rolls her eyes. "Brit, how old are you? You gotta learn to stay alone…"

"…to sleep in the doghouse again."

Santana freezes in the middle of her sentence, staring at Brittany. "What?"

Brittany shrugs. "I lost my house key and the only place we have that I'd fit in is the doghouse out back. I had to do that last week and it was so scary. I was afraid Jacob from Twilight would come back and want his home back."

Santana's eyes roll slightly – the doghouse in Brittany's backyard has been vacant since last year, when their dog had passed away – or, as Brittany has been told – the dog was given to a sick girl with cancer, who needed him more than Brittany did. She believed the fifteen-year-old mutt was still alive and living happily somewhere in the UK.

"Okay fine, whatever. Sleep on the floor, I don't care. I need to get to sleep."

Lashes flutter as Brittany looks up to Santana. "The monster under your bed will get me," she whispers nearly inaudibly, and Santana burns with frustration. _Loving her is such a pain in the ass._

"Okay, fine, whatever Brit. God. Just get in bed already, I'm going to sleep. Stay on your side, okay? I don't need cripple sex germs touching me in my sleep," she snaps before throwing back her covers, retreating to her side of the bed. So much for continuing her moment of mourning through writing and music – but tomorrow is another day. Reaching over, Santana flips off the light beside her bed and for ten seconds, there is silence.

"Thanks Santana. You're the best," whispers Brittany sleepily.

A groan. "Yeah, whatever. Go to sleep," mutters the brunette as she wills her eyes to close, trying to ignore the nearness of Brittany, and the desire it creates within her.

_I can't help but wonder, though, what's going on with her and Artie? There's no way… no, no and even if there is, I can't take her back. Fuck that. I can do better… right?_


	4. Disclaimer

Disclaimer, before I write _any_ further.

I apologize to those who have been offended by my past two chapters. But I feel this needs to be said, and am kind of saddened that it truly _has_ to be said, especially on a site for _fan fiction_.

I realize Santana's comments about Artie are **cruel** and **unwarranted**. That's her _**character**_. I have nothing, beyond nothing, against anyone who is handicapable in any manner whatsoever. Nothing. I am not any of the people about whom I write, I'm simply writing from their perspective.

So please, I intend _not_ to offend anyone with my writings, I'm simply staying true to Santana's character.

Also, as I get further, you'll see that the suggestion of _sex with a cripple is boring_ is hardly the issue at hand. These details will be drawn out as I continue.

So please, accept my sincerest apologies to those who have been offended, and please consider my explanation, as well.

Thanks for reading, I truly appreciate all of your keen eyes watching and waiting.

3


	5. Chapter 3

_A/N: Since I know nothing about Santana's mother and very little about her father, I'm winging it. =)_

Santana restlessly tosses and turns, incapable of falling asleep while Brittany snores quietly beside her, her mind churning with mixed emotions that dance feverishly through the night. Truly, she has nothing _against_ Artie – except for the fact that he has taken Brittany from her. Artie's like Mercedes (who had temporarily drawn Puck from Santana's arms) – truly, a decent person, yet will forever be victim to the cruel agenda of a lonely, jealous female.

Guilt rides her briefly as she recalls her comments about Artie – but she brushes them off quickly, for she is, after all, Santana Lopez. She is _not_ weak and she is not kind-hearted. At least, not to everyone on the outside – she cannot permit them to believe for a moment that she is anything but a bad-ass bitch who hates _everyone_ who stands in her way.

Truth be told? She's just lonely.

Try having a father who is a doctor – it's great for the bills yet he's so engrossed in his work, Santana cannot recall the last time he had dinner with her at their home. Her mother, naturally, grew weary of the long hours waiting… and Santana had no doubt that all her 'personal trainer sessions' and 'pottery classes' did not require the extra changes of clothing that she surreptitiously slipped into her purse, nor warranted the receiving of lavish gifts like Prada bags like the ones she sneaked into her bedroom at the late hours of the day. Santana was convinced that her father knew of the affair(s) – of which there may be multiple, she was unsure – but he seemed unconcerned.

True love, truly, was for the birds. And as a result of the long hours of sneaking and working, Santana had been left to herself, pondering love and mischief, since she was a young girl.

Wearing a mask of deceit, initially, soon her feigning anger was no longer an act – she _was_ angry and she _was_ lonely and as a result, she did act out against all those within her reach. It was her way to hide the vulnerable Santana who was aching, hurting for attention, for love. When she was fourteen and realized that, although she enjoyed messing around with guys, she somehow felt attracted to her girl friends as well… her life was shattered. Denying those feelings for so long only deepened her loathing for life and the 'normal' people around her.

But with Brittany, it was different.

Naïve Brittany started making out with Santana in high school, agreeing that it was not cheating since lady loving was different than man loving – not that she had many _serious_ relationships, since Brittany was a bit of a flirt. Plus, most guys thought girl on girl was hot – why not work it to their advantage? But whereas Santana had deeper emotions building for Brittany, her refusal to discuss them only further confused the already daffy blonde, and it had caused the canyon that currently wedged itself between them. _Too late, I had been too late_, she commiserates to herself as she rests in her bed, listening to Brittany's steady breathing. _I lost the one person who made me feel complete - but fuck it! I can find someone else, someone better. Someone a bit… smarter, too. But … ugh. Life would be so much easier if I could just find a __**man**__ and fall in love and be accepted. _

The night toils onward and Santana cannot suppress the thoughts that continue to brand themselves upon her brain. Thoughts of Brittany, of love, while she ponders why she, of all people, has to be so _confused_ about her own emotions. And of course, there's fear – of rejection, of her parents finding out and hating her or, worse yet, of them not caring at all. Why should they, though? They did, after all, agree to let her get implants while she was still in high school, without question or the raising of a single eyebrow.

She could probably tell them she shot the President and they wouldn't bat an eye.

The first glow of orange sunrise slips through the slats between the blinds on her window, and she has yet to fall to slumber. Frustrated and now exhausted, Santana sighs and glances over her shoulder to Brittany, who sleeps quietly – like a baby. Fighting the urge to touch her, she finally gives up and, feeling defeated, slips downstairs to make breakfast for herself. The sooner she can wake Brittany up and lure her out of her bedroom, the better for all parties involved.


	6. Chapter 4

Appetite is nonexistent as Santana traipses downstairs, but she settles upon whipping up some pancakes anyway – topping them off with a dollop of whipped cream and strawberries. _May as well use them up, they're not being used in the bedroom anytime soon_ she commiserates within her mind, sitting down at the table to eat. She picks through and eats most of the berries, then starts in on a pancake. Two bites or so into the meal, she hears footsteps on the staircase and her dark eyes lift to meet Brittany's drowsy, yet seemingly happy, gaze.

The blonde is disheveled yet Santana cannot help but admit that she's still beautiful. "Hi Santana. Pancakes! Can I make one?"

Santana groans. "No, I don't need you burning down my house. Here, have this one," she says, pointing to the other, untouched, on her plate. "I'm full." Brittany sits down and obliges, not even bothering to take other silverware. Santana sighs softly – this is what she's truly missed lately. "Feel better?" she finally asks, feeling the need to deaden the silence, yet finding herself too exhausted to be her bitchy self.

Brittany nods. "I came to realize you're wrong." Santana blinks. Those aren't words she hears very often. Her brow arches, but Brittany is too engrossed in her pancake to explain. Reigning in some amount of patience, Santana forces herself not to snap – or seem too interested. God knows, she doesn't need to make herself vulnerable again.

Silence, save for Brittany's chewing. Santana is losing it, when suddenly the blonde speaks again.

"I just realized I miss you. Artie is great, really. I mean, he gave me his magic comb and everything. You don't do nice things like that for anyone." Santana is seething, her fists balling up beneath the table; but she says nothing. "But even though you're not like… nice… I really miss our sweet lovin'," Brittany continues, so matter-of-fact that Santana wonders if she's kidding. The look on Brit's face says it all, though, she's serious.

Raking her fingers through her hair, Santana glances away. "Well maybe you're too late in realizing this, because I'm moving on," she states cattily, narrowing her eyes when she finally does return her gaze to the blonde. "What do you have to say about that?"

Brittany shrugs. "Okay. I just don't feel it's nice to pretend anymore. Artie is super nice and he's actually good at sex. He's cute and romantic and it's different. He talks about feelings. But he's also a lot smarter than me…"

Santana interjects, "Um, so am I. Brittany, my dog is smarter than you."

She doesn't have a dog; it's besides the point.

Hardly phased by this comment, Brittany continues, "and I think he's not even over Tina, sometimes. I don't want to hurt his feelings though, we had a great night in bed last night," Santana grits her teeth, fuming, "but I don't feel _love_ for him like I do for you. And that's important, all anyone needs is love, that's what the Bible said."

Not bothering to correct Brittany on her quote mishap because it's irrelevant (and actually, she's just confused as to why Brittany thinks she knows anything about the Bible), Santana shakes her head. "You had your chance with me, you chose him over me. You didn't want to break up with him, now you do. Well too bad, because I wasn't just sitting around on my ass waiting for you!"

Looking confused, Brittany nods. "I know, I saw you dance at Glee Club yesterday, remember. Only Arties sits and dances."

Santana puts her head in her hands and sighs. Sometimes, talking to Brittany is worse than trying to converse with a brick wall. "Okay seriously, just get the hell out of here, Brit. I can't deal with this right now. I confess my love for you, you deny me for Artie, then you decide you love me and want to leave him. All you're doing is hurting people, by being selfish and stupid as usual. What happens then, in two weeks you choose Artie over me again? I'm not letting you back in, after how you hurt me. **Get out of my house**." The command falls onto silence, then Brit nods and gets to her feet.

"Okay, thanks for breakfast. And for letting me sleep here. I don't like the doghouse." Without another word, Brittany disappears from the room and within moments, Santana can hear the front door closing. She waits a few moments, then flees to her bedroom and throws herself onto her bed, sobbing angrily.

_Why does she have to be so damn wonderful? I hate hurting over her, and I hate that I love her even though she broke my heart. I want to reject her but deep down, I can't help but wonder… is she serious?_


	7. Chapter 5

Guilt gnaws at Santana as she lies across her bed, sobbing. She knows she's being irrationally difficult with Brittany – and she knows in her heart that she wants Brittany more than _anything_. But she is wrestling with her defense mechanisms – she does not want to be vulnerable again, for fear that Brittany might reject her (again). Yet when she looks into those confused eyes… she cannot help but feel _right_.

_Damn it_.

The day passes slowly, and Santana dozes on and off while restlessly dreaming about Brittany. At five, she lures herself from her bed and showers, getting herself ready for a night out on the town. Not that there's anything to _do_ in Lima, really, nor does she have anywhere in particular to go, but boredom has gotten the best of her and she needs a distraction. As she's finishing her makeup, her phone rings and there is no debate – guiltiness wins. "Hello?" she asks into the receiver, knowing full well who is on the other line.

No pause before she plows onward. "Hi Santana, it's Brittany. Artie broke up with me. Guess he likes me as a friend but he doesn't want to be in a relationship anymore. And he thinks I still have feelings for someone else." Santana is silent. "Guess he's right." Again, Santana is unsure how to respond. "He was really nice about it, he even gave me another lucky comb. Even though he did admit he lied about the first one being lucky. I'm hoping this one is."

Santana sighs softly, unsure how to feel. "So, what's… up?" she finally asks Brittany, trying to figure out why she actually called her.

Brittany makes an indecipherable sound. "I know you're like, mad at me and stuff for what I did and I get why. I get sad when people tell me no, too." Santana bites her lip, but listens while quivering with impatience. "But I miss you. My best friend, Santana, and the only person to teach me everything she knows about sex. Can't we just like, hang out or something?"

The angry Santana, lonely and volatile, wants to snap and hang up the phone, but she doesn't. She smiles faintly, but keeps her voice steady and almost apathetic. "Sure, I guess I can make plans with you for tonight." She is cool and collected verbally, but her entire body is trembling. She cannot erase the hurt in her heart, but she also cannot help but be enthused by this sudden change.

Though she internally vows to take it slowly and not rip open her heart again.

Brittany returns the exchange in a voice that holds more energy and excitement than Santana's. "Okay awesome! I can come over there, if you want? I really want pizza. And maybe we can dance? I want to dance!" Santana cannot help but chuckle and shake her head. When doesn't Brittany want to dance?

"Sure, I need like, an hour to get ready," she lies, trying to sound as though she hadn't been getting herself ready for nothing all night. "Be here by 8:30?"

Brittany agrees and hangs up the phone, and Santana feels emotions tearing themselves in half within her. So much for being resolute against opening herself up to Brittany again – but she cannot help herself.

"I should probably apologize for calling her stupid…" Santana muses. Though her angry self returns for a moment and she stomps her foot. "No wait, what am I saying? I don't apologize, for anything! She hurt me, so she deserved a taste of her own medicine." But inside, she still aches over the regret of having insulted the girl with whom she had fallen in love. Conflicted, Santana resumes the application of her makeup, then continues hurrying around her room to finish getting ready to go out dancing.

Nervous for the first time in as long as she can remember, Santana puts on some Sinatra and tries to relax.

_Geeze, you'd think I was going on a first date or something. I'm a freakin' maneater for God's sakes, why am I so nervous about going __**dancing**__ with __**Brittany?**_


End file.
